That night, the storm broke.
Lightning split the sky. The wind howled through the mountains. And in the den, Kael claimed her again, fierce and desperate, as if to remind her—and the world—that she was his.
His hands worshiped her, rough and reverent, his lips tracing fire down her body. His voice was raw as he murmured against her skin.
"You are mine. Witch. Queen. Mate. Mine."
Her fire answered, wrapping them in golden flame, bending to him alone. Her voice trembled as she cried his name, her tears mixing with the storm outside.
It was not only passion. It was defiance. A vow made in skin and flame that no rebellion, no shadow, no fate would sever them.
And when the storm passed, she lay in his arms, her heart steady for the first time in days.
But outside, the shadow gathered.